The Third Red 1: The Enemy Within

Night had fallen over the Sorcerer Kingdom capital of Sortar. Parts of the white walled city lay in ruins from yesterday’s attack, others like Savior’s Square were untouched. In the Nature Grove of Savior’s Square sat Chosan Yagero, brother of Margery’s husband Derair. With his brother’s passing, Chosan was now head of the Yagero family, a Lordship. They and the other two Lords of Sortar were second only to the monarchy. He would serve as regent until his nephew Eric came of age.

Chosan was a fat man with a scruffy black beard and bright blue eyes stained from his tears. He wore a purple robe, following the tradition of matching his clothes to his primary magic color. It had a gold trim, he also wore a matching mitre hat similar to those used by bishops on his head, and a jeweled amulet around his neck. In his hands he carried a sorcerer’s staff, and a dagger on his hip.

Daggers weren’t the most effective weapons for combat, but then Chosan himself wasn’t a very combative man. Unlike his brother Derair, who’d been a great warrior, Chosan was a potion maker who spent his days brewing concoctions, feasting at his dinner table, partying, napping, or just enjoying life in general. When the attack came, Derair donned his armor, picked up his sword and shield, then led their forces out to defend the city. Chosan, meanwhile, stayed within the walls of their castle, praying for safety. Things were not safe though, for the invincible demon came, and Chosan merely shook at the sight while his wed-sister Margery went out to defend their home. Men were supposed to protect women, not the other way around!

Chosan silently cursed his cowardice as he sat in the grove. It was peaceful, he was thankful for that. These might be his final moments, and he wanted to have a little peace. An occasional hoot from an owl above sounded. The birds may have forgotten the attack, but Chosan remembered it like a nightmare. He shuddered as he recalled watching the Great Winged Demons descending upon the city. At the same time, their human worshippers, the Demorians, attacked with magic, catapults, and other weapons of war.

“Lord Chosan?” a middle-aged voice asked.

Chosan jumped, snapping out of his trance before he recognized the voice. He turned and saw looked at his company. Three knights all clad in full sets of plate armor, a soldier in chainmail, and two women in elegant dresses. All but one of them were his kin.

Though he had not been looking at them, Chosan knew the voice of the man who spoke a moment ago. He looked at the knight in the middle, Sir Orvalor Presteeg. Orvalor wore a green cape over his shoulders. He was Chosan’s uncle by marriage to his aunt, Lady Myra Presteeg, once known as Myra Yagero in her youth. Orvalor was not just a knight however, he was a Soron Knight, a sorcery (or magic, whatever one preferred to call it) wielding knight that could use his power to enhance his physical prowess in battle. A fist representing that power protruded from the top of his face concealing helmet.

“Tis time to go.” Orvalor said.

“T-thank you, Uncle Orvalor.” Chosan stuttered as he stuck his staff into the ground and pushed his fat frame up.

The new head of the Yagero family led his party out of the grove and onto the streets of Savior’s Square, passing places like the orphanage, courthouse, cemetery, and other buildings or houses. The group headed south until they came to a crossroad. Straight ahead stood the gate to the southern half of Sortar. To Chosan’s right he saw his favorite place in the square, Happy Hall. People worshipped the Smiling God that encouraged happiness over battle there. Finally, on the left stood the red walled Blood Chapel.

Home of the Battle Patron worshippers, its sword shaped towers pierced high into the sky. At the front door stood two Soron Knights of the Royal Guard, personal protectors of Queen Razana. They were dressed in fine red and gold armor marking them as such. On either side of the chapel, massive pyres burned as one of many large-scale funerals took place for the many soldiers that gave their lives defending the city. Derair, however, didn’t belong with them. He was the hero who made the most difference in this battle, his funeral would be held inside the chapel itself.

“The queen will be here to judge me for my crime,” Chosan whispered as they drew near.

“I’m surprised you’re not trembling,” one of the other knights, Omulus grumbled. “Or praying to the Protector to keep you safe!”

Omulus was Orvalor’s bastard son born from an affair he had with another woman one night. He was not a Soron Knight like his father, and as such lacked a fist atop his helmet and his cape was a common white. The fact that Lady Myra was not his mother also meant he was not blood related to the Yageros, but he’d been raised alongside them regardless. However, he’d never gotten on well with Chosan, but was extremely close to Derair. His most loyal knight in fact. He’d been born a short time before Derair and fought by his side, eventually earning a knighthood and the right to share his father’s name of Presteeg.

“Mind your tone knight!” Lilar, Chosan’s personal bodyguard, scolded. “He is your liege lord now!”

While Omulus was (or had been) Derair’s most loyal knight, Lilar was Chosan’s most loyal subordinate. He was a not a member of the Presteeg family, or even Yageros. But he and Chosan grew close as children, he’d defended Chosan from bullies one day and they’d become inseparable since then.

“And who are you to threaten me?” Omulus snarled back. “I’m a knight, you’re not!”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t beat you! You literal son of a whore!” Lilar brandished his axe.

“Enough!” Orvalor put himself between them as Omulus reached for his sword. “Omulus, you will show Chosan respect! Lilar is right, he is your liege lord now! And Lilar! Do not speak ill of his mother!”

“Yes, even if she was not an… ideal sort of woman. She was not really a bad one,” Myra Presteeg said. “But Omulus is a knight, Lilar. Mind your tone, both of you!”

Omulus took his hand off his sword. “Y-yes, Lady Myra. Forgive me.”

“Forgive me,” Lilar said as well, remorse showing on his face.

Myra Presteeg smiled warmly with eyes full of love. Even though Omulus was not her son, she’d learned to love him just the same and forgiven her husband for the affair. She’d been the closest thing he’d had to a mother for years now, since his and Derair’s own threw herself off a tower after their father fell in battle. Myra inspired Chosan to pursue potions as it was a regular hobby of hers. Like him she also had dark hair and blue eyes, traits that were common for their family nowadays.

Omulus took a breath and looked at Chosan who guessed he was scowling under his helmet. Many other lords would have had men who insulted them beaten or worse but Chosan didn’t have the heart for that. He was a kind man who valued personal happiness, joy, and mercy. Some considered these a weakness, and to a degree Chosan had to admit they were. Military matters required one to be strong in both spirit and body. He could never bring himself to take a life or even hurt another being.

He sighed, knowing he had to rely on a harder, stronger man in this instance. “Orvalor, try to keep to the peace in our ranks. I don’t have the stomach for troublesome bloody punishments.”

Orvalor nodded. “Yes, Chosan.”

Chosan shook his head with another sigh. “I’m not worthy of being a Sorcerer Lord. My brother… he-he was a much stronger man! I’m nothing compared to him!”

Omulus gave a small hum of agreement.

Lilar, however, didn’t agree. “Don’t say that, my Lord!”

“Yes,” Orvalor said. “You may not be a warrior like your brother, but you managed to get us out of a tough spot financially. Those potions you made could help save a lot of lives as well. That makes you a protector in your own right. I’m sure your father would be proud.”

Chosan shuddered at the thought of his late father, Dosan. Like Omulus, Dosan always favored Derair. What would he say now if he saw his youngest son acting as Lord of Soyagone and letting others insult him? Also-

“Would he be proud of me for convincing Margery to stay alive?” Chosan asked aloud.“I’m gambling with the fate of Sorceria doing that! Just because I don’t want to lose another family member!”

“A warrior throws a gamble every time he goes into battle,” Orvalor mused wisely. “The chances you shall die are high even for the greatest of us. But what matters is that you protect what you care about. You want to protect your family. There is no shame in that.”

“I wonder if Queen Razana will see it that way.”

“Let us hope so,” Vikal, the last knight and man among them spoke for the first time.

He was Orvalor and Myra’s last surviving son. Like his father, Vikal was a Soron Knight with a helmet bearing a fist at the top. His cape was dark blue in coloration as he’d inherited his mother’s primary sorcery color. At his side was their group member, Vikal’s wife Lady Lorala. Their marriage had been quite recent, shortly before Chosan’s nephew was born. Lorala came from one of the other noble houses of Sortar. Her dress reminded Chosan of fire and smoke, orange and black. Along with Chosan and Myra, she didn’t have anything concealing her face. cold brown eyes betrayed no emotion and she said nothing. Also like them she had dark hair which she wrapped in a ponytail with a gold hairband.

“I’d hate to lose any more of my family,” Vikal said. “Hate to lose all the Yageros left.”

Three sentences in the space of a few seconds. That was rare. Vikal was a man of few words.

As they approached the doors to the Blood Chapel, one of the royal knights spoke, “Lord Chosan. You will enter to face the queen alone.”

Their words sent a chill down Chosan’s spine. He shivered as the doors opened. Slowly, he took a few deep breaths and turned to Orvalor, struggling to speak more than ever.

“If-if I’m executed, you’ll-you’ll rule Soyagone in-in my place until M-Margery comes back.”

Orvalor nodded. “I’ll do my best, Chosan.”

Myra took her husband’s arm, “We both will. I’ll keep making potions to heal those that need it.”

Chosan nodded at his aunt. “I love you all.”

He meant that sincerely, except for perhaps Omulus and Lorala. Omulus being the one whom he didn’t get along with but still cared for, and Lorala being the newest member of his family. She was a staunch traditionalist however, and didn’t get on with Margery in the same way Omulus didn’t get on with Chosan.

“Good luck, Lord Chosan,” Lilar said.

“Hmph!” Omulus scoffed.

“I do hope

“Mighty good,” Chosan said his favorite phrase with less joy than usual before turning to his bodyguard. “Thank you for standing with me all these years, Lilar. I appreciate it.”

Lilar nodded. Chosan could see in his eyes that he wanted to come with his lord, but the royal guards had said that was not allowed. Chosan remembered how in his youth he would be bullied for his size and his inability to fight back. He’d never liked the idea of violence and drawing blood. Chosan looked through the doors, gulped, and stepped inside. Every instinct in his body told him to run and hide, but he knew it would be useless. He needed to face the queen, there was no running from this.

The Blood Chapel’s interior consisted of a long hallway with benches and stain-glass windows depicting the symbols of the Battle Patrons. The Warrior’s Sword represented glory and honor, the Axe of the Executioner brought justice down on wrongdoers, the Conqueror’s Boot crushed enemies like insects, the Lord’s Hand rewarded great deeds with wealth, and the Shield of the Protector (which House Yagaro took as its own symbol) guarded the defenseless. These were the five main patrons that warriors from the Sorcerer Kingdom followed.

The other four minor patrons held smaller but still pivotal roles. The Smith hammered metal into arms and armor for warriors to use. The Scholar provided wisdom and strategy from his book. The Archer (or Huntsman) fired his bow to bring enemies down from afar and fill the table with meat. Finally, the Maiden (or Lover and Mother) gave love to heroes then bore and cared for their children. All these entities served as examples for people to follow. There was one other patron, but its role lay hidden in the shadow, where there was less honor. It was unseen here.

Queen Razana stood in the back of the chapel, before a table where Derair’s body lay. Descended from Rayzar the Red, the sorcerer who’d united the kingdom nearly two thousand years ago, Razana was the last of his line. Her husband and children had all been assassinated, so when she passed a new ruler would have to be selected. Razana did her best to be a fair and just queen who looked after her subjects. But sometimes she had to make hard choices that required sacrifice, a strength Chosan didn’t have.

For the funeral, the queen wore a dark mourning garment. She appeared mostly human, though her eyes were violet, showing her heritage as part fairy, a humanlike race that was extremely beautiful and often possessed rare eye colors. The queen’s eyes were sad, but still bore a certain strength to them. Next to Razana were Taro Volk and Richan Greddy, the other two lords of Sortar.

Taro, an enormous mountain of a man with scars covering his face glared at Chosan furiously. A suit of dragon scale armor covered his body, and he carried a warhammer on his back as well as a longsword at his hip. Richan, like Chosan, preferred fine clothes over armor.

In front of them was a large group of people. Knights both Soron and Non-Soron, masked War Casters, and hooded sorcerers. Chosan made his way past the line of threatening attendees, shivering as he saw their glares. He came up to Queen Razana and bowed his head.

“Lord Chosan. I’m sorry for your loss,” she started gently.

“T-thank you, your highness,” Chosan said, his voice still shaking.

“But while I may sympathize with you, I cannot condone what you have done! You prevented your wed-sister from taking her own life when she was honor bound to do so?” Razana asked in a suddenly strong voice.

“Y-yes!” Chosan admitted through his stutters, stepping back at the strength of the queen’s voice.

“And you are aware of what will happen when that monster escapes from her? Alone he could easily destroy an entire army!”

“Y-yes. But only if we allow him to escape and live!” Chosan told her desperately. “K-kill him when he comes out and those lives are spared! Margery won’t have to s-sacrifice herself!”

“We cannot kill him!” Taro Volk shouted in outrage. “Many cannot even move in his presence, and those that can aren’t able to harm him with sword or sorcery! You are fighting a lost battle! He is trapped in a cell now! It’s better to destroy that cell with him inside!”

“My-my wed-sister is not a prison cell!” Chosan countered, a spark of anger lighting up and casting his fear aside for a moment.

“Yes, she is. Now that that thing is trapped inside her.” Taro motioned to the fighters in the room. “Look around you! See all these men? What have they devoted their entire lives to? Fighting the Demorians! That is our purpose! We are weapons to fight their evil! For centuries we have fought so that one day Sorceria will be purged of it forever! But you dishonored that, Chosan! You encouraged her to live and commit treason by survival! You know the penalty for that!”

Chosan shuddered at the thought, his courage vanished as quickly as it came.

“Send him to the dungeons! He’ll be executed at dawn!” Taro ordered.

A pair of Volk knights stepped forward to carry out their lord’s command. Chosan squeezed his eyes shut, not even thinking to reach for his dagger or staff.

“Stop!” the queen raised a hand, and the Volk knights did as they were told. “Taro, do you forget who the monarch is?”

“No, of course not, my queen. But the penalty for living when you can cause harm to the kingdom by doing so is death. And he convinced his wed-sister to do that!” Taro said.

“It is not certain that she will cause harm,” Richan Greddy spoke for the first time. “Remember the prophecy of Azon V? Only the one with red sorcery can defeat that demon. Her son has that power and he is with her!”

Chosan looked at him in gratitude. Richan had been a friend of his since they were boys. They’d played together when they were young since their fathers were both Lords of Sortar.

“True,” Taro admitted. “But the prophecy stated he could end the war for either side. If that fiend triumphs, he will take the boy. Victory would then be guaranteed for the Demorians! That’s too risky. Sacrificing Margery is the only way to be sure.”

“Why not bring her back and protect her? Once the demon is out, we can help fight it,” Richan suggested.

That had been Chosan’s first thought. But Margery knew what would happen if she stayed. The houses of Sortar would divide over the matter and there could be a civil war, even if there wasn’t, the Demorians would come back to retrieve their leader. She’d left, and Chosan made sure to spread that word. Once the news reached any spies of the Demorians they would go looking for her elsewhere.

“Idiot, I said this demon can freeze people with his mere presence,” Taro snapped at Richan.

“Yes, that would only result in more lives lost.” Razana nodded. “Sacrifices are inevitable but-

“We are nobles!” Richan shouted. “Are we not due a higher value than the common rabble? Our families have served yours since the founding of this kingdom! Before it in fact! We helped create this city!”

Chosan grimaced at those words. It was times like this when he questioned why he counted Richan as a friend. The man was arrogant, egotistical, and selfish. While Chosan was a coward who didn’t have the courage to stand up for someone in danger, Richan would simply walk away without a second thought.

Razana also frowned in disgust. “All my subjects are important to me, Lord Richan. I will not show favoritism, no matter their status. Peasant or noble, high or low, it matters not… I will do what must be done. I’ve had to sacrifice some to save more many times,” she said, her head falling.

“Would you be willing to sacrifice your own family?” Richan asked.

Razana looked as though she’d been hit. Taro maintained his cold expression, stone-gray eyes not leaving Chosan.

“I would sacrifice everything I have to make sure the Demorians were destroyed for good!” the Volk Lord declared.

Richan looked at the queen. “You lost your entire family years ago, your highness! Margery and her son are the last of Chosan’s. He wants to save them, as I’m sure you wish you could have saved yours! How much would you be willing to risk for it?”

Razana was silent for a moment. Then sighed. “Anything if I could have saved my sons.”

“And your daughter?” Richan reminded her.

“Oh, yes. Her as well, and my husband... and brother.” The queen took a breath before addressing Chosan once again. “I will reserve judgement for now. Once this is solved, when the demon comes out and has been dealt with, I shall pass it. If Eric manages to destroy the demon... we will be fortunate and no one else will have to be sacrificed. But if he fails and is captured, I will have you beheaded for costing us our only hope!”

Chosan shivered. He clenched his right hand and felt a ring there. He hid it behind his back, fearing it would be noticed. If anything went wrong, this ring was his only chance to save his family. It was enchanted and could bring him to them. If Taro knew, he might use it to kill Margery. Chosan had to keep this a secret. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice his hasty action.

Then a man in an elaborate red robe bearing a mitre hat like Chosan’s on his head, the Blood Bishop, approached the queen.

“We are ready to begin, your highness.”

“Very well. Let them in,” Razana said.

The doors to the Blood Chapel opened once more. Orvalor and the rest of Chosan’s party made their way inside, with many others behind them. Derair, being such a great hero, was admired across the kingdom, word would travel to the other cities of his death soon enough. Many wore forlorn expressions as they beheld the body lying on the stone table. Derair bore a striking resemblance to Chosan, having the same hair and eye colors. But while Chosan had a scruffy beard, Derair kept his face shaved clean. Also, unlike his gluttonous, potion making, party animal brother, Derair was well-built and muscular. He possessed the body of a warrior to boast, though he cared not for boasting. He’d been changed out of his armor from the battle and into his best tunic, a sword resting on his chest.

One by one, the visitors came up to his body. Orvalor was first, the knight took off his helmet, allowing Chosan to see his face. He had a short beard like Chosan, gray hair forming into it. Tears were visible on his wrinkling cheeks, his age was catching up to him. “My dear nephew, I watched you from the day you were born. You always trained so hard, pushed yourself to become as strong as you could be with both sword and magic. I remember how you killed a demon at such a young age! Everyone was so amazed. I-I thought that you would never lose a battle! You were another son to me! I wish that I could have saved you.”

A pregnant woman Chosan knew, Betrica Calamen, came afterwards. “Lord Derair, you were one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. You had great strength in battle, and the heart of a true hero. I only wish you’d had more time to know happiness for yourself.”

Chosan nodded tearfully at Betrica’s words. Derair had taken the path of the Protector to the extreme after their parents died. He’d viewed himself as a pawn to protect the innocent, and devoted everything to that. He’d given nearly all the gold they had to the poor in Sortar, never took rewards or celebrated his achievements, rarely even smiled. He simply left his happiness behind until he met Margery. She’d given him new joy in life. Now that life had been cut short. Chosan wept for that.

Others approached and offered their condolences. Finally, it was Chosan’s turn. Taking a breath, he wiped his eyes and walked up to his brother’s body.

“I know you’ll go to Spirakus, Derair. I swear I will do what I can for Margery. I hope that-that you and Father won’t hate me for what I did.”

He sobbed and took a few steps back. The Blood Bishop blessed Derair’s body and lit it aflame. This warrior’s fight was at an end, it was time for a new generation to pick up the sword in the years to come.

Many Years Later